Spanish Pride, English Prejudice
by Pandora of Ithilien
Summary: Prince Philip and Princess Cecily hated each other from their first meeting, but that didn't prevent the marriage that they must now go through with. Will their shared hatred make them both miserable? Spinoff to Handmaid.
1. This Is Not My Idea

Disclaimer: Funnily enough, Cecily actually is mine, along with anyone else who didn't actually exist in history or the show. Everything else… no, not mine.

A/N: If you have not read my fic Handmaid, this story won't make much sense at all.

_Derek: So happy you could come_

_Odette: So happy to be here_

_Derek/Odette: How I'd like to run…_

_Derek/Odette: For as long as I remember_

_We've been told we'd someday wed…_

_Derek: I can do much better, I am sure_

_Odette: He's so immature…_ From 'This is My Idea', _The Swan Princess_

May 1543

Hampton Court

_**Prologue – This Is Not My Idea**_: Princess Cecily Tudor was only a few months shy of her fifteenth birthday, old enough to be a wife and mother. So she was now to be shipped off to Spain to marry the idiot boy she'd been betrothed to at the age of four. Her opinion had remained unchanged where Philip of Spain was concerned, despite the nicely polite letters she had received over the intervening years since their meeting. Her tutors assigned her to write to him – she imagined that everything he wrote was of a similar nature.

She had used the past ten years to her benefit, however. She'd spent a lot of time with her Spanish stepmother, learning everything she could about what it was like to be a stranger in a new country, and about the Spanish language and people. While Katherine's knowledge on the last might be somewhat dated, it was better than nothing. Katherine had also encouraged an acquaintance with Chapuys, the Spanish ambassador, who was able to help Cecily even more. She had done all she could to be ready for her new position, though it didn't make her any happier about her future husband.

"Cecily, Princess of Asturias," she said to her reflection. "I'd rather stay Princess of England, thanks ever so."

"I wish you could too," said a voice. She glanced around to see her six-year-old brother, Owen, in her doorway.

"What are you doing here, Scamp?" she said, walking over to ruffle the boy's dark hair.

"Mama and Papa said we could come down from Hatfield to see you off," he said. "Are you really going?" His eyes, as dark as her own, were bright with unshed tears.

Cecily stared at the little boy, a memory flashing through her mind.

_"Do you really have to go?" seven-year-old Cecily asked pleadingly, looking up at her beloved older sister. Mary knelt so that the two girls were at the same eyelevel before pulling the younger girl into a tight hug. _

_ "Yes, I do, Cecily." _

_ "But why?" _

_ "Because I'm going to marry Philip, and I love him." Mary spoke gently, trying not to make the small girl even more upset. _

_ "Don't you love us, Mary? Don't you love me?" _

_ "Of course I do, but this is what happens to princesses. We have to marry and leave our homes, it's part of our duty. You'll understand someday. But I promise, I'll always love you, and I'll write, and maybe you can visit us someday in Bavaria." _

Now it was Cecily on her knees, hugging a younger sibling tightly. Bess and Edmund had always had each other, so by default, Owen had attached himself to her from an early age, much like how she had once attached herself to Mary. So she knew what her little brother was going through, and it helped her understand how Mary must have felt. For a moment she forgot all about her own sulkiness to comfort the small boy who would no longer be her shadow.

* * *

Valladolid, Spain

Palace of Los Pimentel

"Well, I for one can't wait to meet her," Philip's sister Juana teased, smirking widely at her brother's scowl. "Especially if she has you this irritated – it takes a lot to make my stoic brother obviously upset."

"Do be quiet, little sister," Philip snarled, glaring at her. For the most part, he had escaped his sister once becoming Regent of Spain, but she was here now to help welcome his new bride. That thought only made his mood even worse.

He remembered the upstart girl who had yelled at him years ago on his visit to England, acting as though she were his equal when she most certainly was not. He'd never met a female with such audacity before. It had infuriated him even then, and now… Now the thought of being married to the chit had his blood boiling. There had to be some way out of it. But he knew that there was not. He would just have to learn to live with it.

He considered the coolly polite letters he had received from his betrothed over the past five years. They held no hint of the girl he remembered, but he imagined her tutor had made sure of that just as his own had kept his letters to a proper tone. Still, he supposed it was possible that she could have grown up – if he was extremely lucky, anyway. But betrothal to Cecily Tudor had already convinced him that he was not.

He would just have to learn to live with her, as she would with him. He was not a child, he could accept it. But he was not happy about it, and he did not need his sister's teasing. "Juana, if you can do nothing but mock me, please leave me alone."

Juana rolled her eyes but flounced out of the room, leaving Philip alone with a growing headache. He turned his head toward the portrait on his desk. His father and King Henry had decided it would be a nice gesture if he and Cecily sent each other their portraits, so they had done so. He could still see hints of the little girl he'd known in the admittedly attractive young woman in the portrait, but there was a hint of something in the dark eyes that told him she was not going to be easy to deal with, no matter how pretty she was.

* * *

Southampton, England

Cecily managed to smile at Kitty Culpepper. The older girl was one of her favorites among the ladies assigned to go to Spain with her. Kitty was also her cousin, having been born a Howard – and her husband was also part of Cecily's household, as her master of horse. Kitty, despite being four years Cecily's senior, was a fun-loving girl who could sometimes be a little silly. But she was loyal, and she was someone Cecily had grown up around – Kitty had been pressed into service as a maid of honor to Cecily's mother as soon as she turned twelve, which was the earliest a girl was usually accepted into a royal consort's household. Six years in Anne's service made Kitty one of Cecily's senior ladies, though she didn't always behave as such. But then, if she did, she wouldn't be Kitty.

Her cousin's sunny nature was the only thing that kept Cecily smiling. She'd left her family behind forever three days ago, and she was finding it hard to display that serenely smiling mask that she had always known was appropriate to a princess. It was times like these when she wished she was more like Bess, who, while she was as good as either of their parents at pouring on the charm, often refused to bother hiding when she was unhappy. But Cecily had spent too much of her early childhood with her stepmother and elder sister, and both of them always showed quietly happy faces to the public, no matter what their true feelings.

It was a talent her mother also did her best to emulate, and as a rule the Princess Consort did rather well with it, but she herself said she would never quite manage it as well as the Queen did. But Cecily loved her mother more in some ways because she'd never fully lost that part of her that had been born a knight's daughter. It made her more approachable sometimes. And then there was her father, who'd never totally lost his boyishness. Edmund, who tried so hard to be the perfect Prince of Wales, their father's ideal heir, focusing only on that until Cecily just wanted to shake him and tell him that he was fantastic as he was, and didn't need to try to be anything else. Bess, as fiery as her hair, who went her own way and dared anyone to stop her. Little Owen, who followed Cecily around the same way she had followed Mary. And even poor Edward, her father's son by another woman, who watched them with longing in the eyes that looked just like their father's.

She'd been so lost without her older sister; would Owen be the same without her? Who would step in on the handful of occasions when Edmund and Bess actually flared up at each other? Would Edward ever be a true part of the family? And how could she keep smiling when she didn't have her father to tease her out of her bad moods? How would she handle the responsibilities of being a princess without Katherine's advice to fall back on? How would she ever feel totally safe when she might never be with her mother again? The thoughts rushed through her, emotion closing her throat, as she thought of all that she was leaving behind. It wasn't fair!

But she was a princess, and no one would ever know that she wanted to cry, or scream. She would not shame her family that way. And she would never allow herself to appear homesick when she arrived in Spain, giving her future husband an excuse to belittle her. So she lifted her chin and walked onto the ship, knowing that there was a chance she may never return to English soil.

* * *

June 1543

Valladolid, Spain

Cecily got her first glimpse of Spain when her ship, _Tudor Rose_, sailed into Coruna. Coruna was very like Southampton, she noticed, a busy seaport city. But it was so hot! Katherine had warned her that it was much warmer in Spain, that it would make English summers seem almost cold in comparison. Cecily hadn't believed her. She did now. How could she possibly live here without burning up? How did anyone live here?

Her party set off from Coruna on horseback the next morning, having spent the night with a local noble as their host. Cecily was glad at first that she was to ride in a litter, hoping that it would block the sun, but she soon found that it was unbearably hot when the curtains were closed. So she opened them, exposing herself to the stares of curious passersby. She was used to the eyes of the public, but not so focused on her. When she appeared with the adults of her family, the focus was on them, and when she was out with her siblings, everyone's attention was immediately drawn to Edmund as the heir, and then to Elizabeth, whose fiery red hair always caught the eye. Now all eyes were on her, and it was a little unsettling.

They'd watched her in England, when she traveled from London to Southampton, but it had been different. The people knew her there, and while they enjoyed seeing her, they didn't watch with the same hungry curiosity that the Spanish people did. It was unsettling, though she smiled and waved just as she had in England. They were watching her for a show, so she would give them one.

When they reached Valladolid, Cecily's own curiosity rose. She was relatively familiar with London, her own country's capital city, but this was a new place. She hoped there would be something familiar in it. Thankfully, there was, in the crowds and the noise, the market stalls and the children running around underfoot. But the way they stopped what they were doing, or at least slowed down, to get a look at her, took some of that comfort away. She wanted to go home.

She was surprised to see a royal party riding toward her own, with a young man at its head. She recognized Philip from his portrait, and even without it, she would still have known him, as there was some hints of the small boy he had been still lingering in his face. He had fulfilled the promise of his child self, growing into a handsome young man. But she saw the arrogant lift of his chin and knew he had not changed. So she would have to marry a cocky, entitled little boy. She had expected that, but it was still annoying.

Holding her own head high, she waited while he dismounted and offered a hand to help her out of the litter. She didn't need it, really, but she knew quite well that it was the proper thing to do, so she took the hand with a polite smile. When she was out of the litter, she swept him a deep curtsey. "It is a pleasure to see you again, my lord husband," she said, in a clear, carrying voice. They were performing for an audience, after all. And calling him 'husband' was not inaccurate; they had been married by proxy already, after all.

"The pleasure is mine," Philip said as he raised her up, kissing her formally on both cheeks. "You are welcome to Spain."

His words met with approval, clearly, since the gathered people were cheering. Cecily kept her polite smile on her face, thinking cynically that Philip certainly knew how to put on a show for his people. But she'd seen the disdain in his eyes and knew his feelings had changed as much as hers had – which meant not one jot. And she was fine with that. At least they agreed on _something_.


	2. Ties Breaking, Ties Binding

_**Chapter 2 – Ties Breaking, Ties Binding:**_ Cecily woke early on the morning of her wedding, even before she would be called to begin preparing. She was alone in the bed, at her own insistence, and even her Lady Governess – or _duenna_, as such a woman was called here – Lady Anne Herbert, had not been able to dissuade her. Cecily knew that a maid was asleep on a pallet outside her chamber door in case she needed some service in the night, but she did not require one, not truly.

There was a window seat in her bedchamber, her favorite thing about the room already. She crossed to it, bare feet silent on the rushes that covered the stone floor, and sat down, drawing her knees to her chest underneath her nightdress. Her plaited dark hair fell over one shoulder and in the pale light of the rising sun, anyone who saw her would have thought she looked like a lost little girl, not a princess on her wedding day.

Cecily _felt_ lost. But there was something that both her stepmother, forever gone from her homeland, and her mother, who had been raised far from home, had told her. That she could look at the sky, the sun, moon, and stars, and know that their light shone on her home and family as well. It wasn't the comfort now that it had seemed then, but... It was something, she supposed. And more than she would have if she disdained the idea.

So Cecily spent her last hours as an English princess watching the sun rise over Spain, and telling herself that the same sun rose over Whitehall, and Ludlow, and Eltham too. Those were the homes of her family, and it did help a little to think of it. She still sat up when Lady Herbert came bustling in.

* * *

Anne Herbert was the younger sister to Cecily's second godmother, the Countess of Surrey, Kate Howard. Kate was her mother's chief lady, and Anne had certainly picked up the same skill for efficient running of a household; even Cecily was bewildered by the speed with which she found herself in a metal tub of hot water, the heat of it flushing her pale skin. A maidservant took up her hair and rubbed it with black silk coated in a sweet-smelling oil – apparently it was to bring shine and color to her hair.

Dressing took longer than usual of course, as she was laced into an elaborate dress of silvery-blue silk. The bodice was all silver thread, and shimmered faintly. The skirts whispered quietly around her as she moved, and the silver-lace mantilla she wore – on Katherine's advice – looked beautiful over her black hair. Her necklace and earrings were sapphires set in silver, a gift from her father and mother from last Christmas. She had insisted on wearing them rather than something new.

Staring at her in the mirror was a Spanish princess, she could not deny it. A Spanish princess who was about to become the queen-in-waiting, the highest lady in the land since the Emperor's wife was long dead. It might not be her wish, but there was no escaping facts. At least she spoke the language. It would make things easier for her than it often was for princesses far from home, who did not speak the tongue of their new land.

It would be easier. Even if she had to endure that arrogant young man as her husband. She would have to learn to live with him, she supposed. There were worse things – at least she couldn't see him being like her ancestor Henry II, who had locked away his wife Eleanor of Aquitaine for long years. Cecily knew Queen Eleanor had plotted against her husband, and of course Cecily herself would never be such a fool, but the point stood.

She would be better off than her sister Mary's grandmother, who had spent her childhood on a knife's edge. Or Katherine, forced to wait in growing poverty for seven years to see if she would be widow or wife in England, or Cecily's own mother, who had nearly been murdered to satisfy the ambition of her unnoticed rival. No matter what irritations she faced, it would be better for her than that.

With that thought in mind, Cecily lifted her chin and flashed the mirror a winning smile that only a princess of Tudor and Boleyn blood, raised with the added influence of a woman born and bred to royalty, could manage. And she walked from the room to be married, no one but perhaps her two relations Missy and Kitty aware of how much of it was a mere performance for the eyes that would be forever on her.

* * *

"I don't see the problem," Luis de Requenses said dryly as he watched Philip pace his office. "I mean, honestly, Your Highness, she's a lovely girl and it's not as though she would be the first you've bedded." He was one of the only people allowed to speak so bluntly to the Prince, and though he was careful not to abuse that, he did know when to use it.

Philip rolled his eyes. "She's lovely, but she's an utter harpy under it, Luis! I never wanted to marry her, I hated her from the moment I saw her, so why should that change?"

"Perhaps because you were seven years old and she four when you first met, and you don't really know if either of you still have the qualities that made you hate each other so much?" Luis asked, his voice mild as he pointed out something that had seemed obvious to him.

"Her blood is not good enough for mine. Her grandfather was a mere knight until his daughter caught Henry of England's eye, and she's not even the Queen. Only a handmaid promoted for having a son, little better than a mistress if one is being honest."

"She's the descendant of the Plantagenets through her father, and they've been the royal family of England for centuries, one branch of them or another. Really, though, you don't have a choice about marrying her; surely the two of you can come to some kind of truce so that your union isn't a misery." That was the sensible approach to marriage, after all. Almost no one got to choose their spouse, so it was up to the couple in question to find ways to cope with the situation and keep their lives from being miserable.

Philip scowled and probably would have flung himself into his chair were he not too aware of his royal dignity – and his wedding clothes, which were part of that, Luis noted dryly – to act entirely like a petulant child. "You're just determined to make me the wrong one here, aren't you?"

"No, of course not," Luis said cautiously. "I want you to be happy, Your Highness. You and I have often been as brothers, and so I want to see you have a pleasant marriage. I think you can make that happen if you try to. I just want to help."

The smile his old friend gave him was wry, and Luis relaxed. Philip was generally easy to get along with, and he appreciated his friends. It made life easier for those around him. The prince shook his head, and then said, "Well. Perhaps you have a point, Luis. I can certainly think of worse methods of coping with this... situation."

* * *

Standing in front of the priest as the Latin words echoed in her ears, Cecily felt as though she were being cast adrift. This was it. She was being bound to Philip, yes, but more she was being bound to Spain. She no longer belonged to England, and it felt so wrong. Still, she kept the polite, distant smile she'd learned as a small child firmly on her face. It was easy, almost too easy, to do so.

She said all the words she was supposed to say, felt Philip slide a ring onto her finger before doing the same for him, and lifted her face for a brief, cool kiss as the ceremony ended. She did it all feeling strangely numb. Was she supposed to be happy? Her father had taken his consorts for love, even though in Katherine's case it had also brought him an alliance. Mary was the same, and Kate, who had been almost an honorary aunt to her, had also had the good fortune to marry for love. Even Missy's mother, her Aunt Mary, had managed that! Of course they had been happy in their marriages. But she was not so fortunate.

At the wedding feast, Philip invited her and her ladies to perform an English dance for the court, a hint of mockery well-hidden in his eyes. It was, Cecily thought, almost a blessing that he had done so, as it shook her from her state of vague detachment. He'd spoken in Latin, obviously not realizing that she spoke Spanish. Which made sense; their formal letters had always been in Latin as well.

"As my lord commands," she said in perfect Spanish. Her accent was, perhaps, a bit dated, as it was modeled on Katherine's, but it was still a Spanish accent. Her French was nearly as good, thanks to her mother, but right now that was irrelevant. She had the joy of seeing Philip's eyes widen slightly in shock, and the feel that she had won a point from him. Yet she couldn't help but notice that when he lost that arrogant look, even for a moment, he looked at least as handsome any of the attractive young men she'd surreptitiously admired back home, and better-looking than some. It was a disconcerting thought, and she shoved it aside as she walked out into the space that had been cleared for her and her ladies.

She partnered with Missy, of course, and they danced as they had so many times in their childhood together, learning the steps carefully. There was an understanding between them, that everyone else in Cecily's household was aware of. Cecily was the princess, so of course she always went first. But regardless of age or rank, Missy was always second, always the one at Cecily's side. That was true even in something as trivial as a dance in front of the courtiers who populated her new home.

But later that night, it wasn't Missy that Cecily wished to speak to alone. It was Kitty. Technically, she should be asking Lady Herbert about this, not Kitty, but she couldn't see herself speaking to her Lady Governess about this. She and her mother had discussed it a little, enough so that Cecily was aware of the particulars, but...

"Can it be enjoyable for women too, lying with a man?" she asked, feeling her cheeks heat up as she did so. Kitty raised her eyebrows, clearly surprised that Cecily would ask, but then she smiled mischievously.

"Oh, it can be great fun. But I thought you didn't like him."

"I don't. But I have no desire to be miserable either, and the more about this marriage that is pleasant, the more tolerable it will be. So, I wondered..."

Kitty tilted her head, surveying Cecily the way she had so many times before, to give a verdict on some new article of clothing or piece of jewelry. Kitty had a sense of style that could rival Cecily's own mother's, so her cousin's advice had often been invaluable. "Well, you're a princess, not a younger son's youngest daughter, as I am, so you have to behave yourself far more than I did! Still..." She reached forward and unplaited Cecily's hair, brushing out until it fell in shiny dark waves around her face. "You don't want to look like a girl. And smile at him, make him feel welcome. They've given you wine, that should help you both to be more friendly!"

There were other bits of advice, things that made Cecily's cheeks burn and she couldn't help but wonder if Kitty had learned all of this _after_ her marriage. Some of it she was sure she would never put to use, but it was better to have too much knowledge than not enough. She was sure of that.

She was glad when she was left alone, though, relieved at least that she didn't have to go through what her aunt Margaret had in Portugal. She'd overheard something about it once, the marriage being consummated in front of half the court, which was just horrible to think about. But all she had to do was wait in the dim silence of her new bedchamber. Not a bad alternative, all in all.

* * *

Philip had been shocked by Cecily's strong grasp of Spanish, but he'd also been stunned by how her clear pleasure in the dance, among her ladies, changed her. She looked almost like a girl he would want to take to bed, when she was smiling and cheerful. Perhaps Luis had been right.

He finally shook off his laughing friends at the bedchamber door, entering the room to find Cecily sitting on the edge of the bed, dark hair loose around her face. She stood up when he came in, watching him warily. He supposed he appeared similarly watchful, but then, what did either of them expect?

He took up a goblet of wine and then handed the second to her before he drained his own. She sipped hers before setting it on the table, lifting her chin and crossing the room until she stood before him. "I know how this goes," she said calmly. "If there's a reason you're waiting..."

"You'd best not know too well," Philip shot back, and Cecily's eyes narrowed. He saw her hand jerk up slightly, as if she meant to slap him, but she stopped herself.

"Of course not," she said silkily, slanting him a look which reminded him that she was the daughter of a woman who had risen to the second-highest place a woman could reach, on the strength of being irresistible. He still hated her, for the stubbornness that clearly hadn't faded in the intervening years, but... Luis was right, she was attractive.

Stepping forward, he took her wrist to pull her closer, and she went without fighting him, to his surprise. That was when he saw the challenge in her eyes and understood; this was to be one more battle between them, but this one, at least, could be pleasant if they allowed it.

A/N: Yeah... I have no excuses for how long this took, unless you count the Inception fandom basically kidnapping my inspiration.


	3. Not As It Seems

_**Chapter 3 – Not As It Seems:**_ Cecily wasn't really surprised to find that their first night as a couple set the tone for the next few months. She and Philip were formally polite to each other in public, and at night... Well. The marriage bed was one of the more enjoyable parts of this situation, as it turned out. Not that she'd admit it out loud when it made her cheeks burn even to think about it, but still. At least there was one advantage to it.

Otherwise... In some ways, life continued for her as it had before. Her formal schooling had ended with her marriage, but she'd always enjoyed languages, and she was considering adding Portuguese to her repertoire. After all, her new husband was half Portuguese, and Portuguese nobles were a relatively common sight here. Dutch was another possibility, as Philip would almost certainly inherit the Netherlands, and then it would be good for her to speak the language. And she was learning more about the history of Spain. Of course, she had studied it at home, but there was nothing like being able to study a country's history in that country. She'd spoken to Philip about the palace library, and spending time there. He'd been clearly startled, but told her that she was allowed there whenever she wished, as long as she did not allow it to distract her from doing what was expected as his wife, in bed and in public.

As though she would, as though that wasn't the entire point. The fact of the matter was, she was Princess of Asturias now, the wife of Spain's Regent and future King. She was in the same position as her stepmother, only in reverse. But Katherine's example was a good one to follow, in this regard. Becoming Spanish was the only way to proceed. Or rather, not simply Spanish, since even if he wasn't able to follow his father as Holy Roman Emperor, Philip would inherit more than just Spain. But Cecily knew what she was doing.

She was doing what her mother had done as well, to an extent. Anne Boleyn had faced people who weren't sure she was fit to be the mother of England's heirs, who felt that her position should not be as prominent as it was. Besides all that, she'd been merely the daughter of a knight before catching the King's eye, and had needed to learn how to be royal. Her stepmother and her mother had both won the affections of the English people, and had never lost that love.

There were worse examples than the women in her life to follow.

She was pulled from her musings by Lady Herbert clearing her throat. "Your Highness, Sir Thomas Wyatt is here."

Cecily smiled, thinking of her father's ambassador at Philip's court. She couldn't help but like Wyatt; he was old enough to be her father but his disarming nature endeared her to him. "Send him in, then," she said with a nod. Lady Herbert escorted Wyatt in, and he swept her a bow. Cecily inclined her head gracefully, beckoning for her ladies to leave. Lady Herbert hesitated, but Cecily sent her an imperious look that was a perfect echo of her father's, and the woman retreated.

"Your Highness, it is good to see you."

"And you, Sir Thomas. Tell me, what news from home?" It was such a relief to speak her native tongue. Even with her English ladies she endeavored to speak some Spanish, if for no other reason than to force the more stubborn among them to learn the language.

Wyatt looked up into pale blue eyes so like ones he had once admired in the Princess' mother. He'd loved Anne Boleyn once, and part of him loved her still. But he was married for a second time, to Elizabeth Darrell, and he loved her even more. Still, Cecily's resemblance to her mother, even more pronounced than her younger sister's thanks to her dark coloring, made him want to see her happy.

"Your brother the Prince of Wales is settled in Ludlow, with your uncle George as head of his household. As for your youngest brother, Prince Owen, he has been officially invested with the title of Duke of York. Your sister's marriage to the Duke of Orleans has been finalized, and she will travel to France in a year's time," he reported, knowing that this was not all she would wish to hear. "And also, I have letters for you, from your mother, stepmother, and your elder sister."

"Thank you, Sir Thomas," Cecily said, unable to keep the bright grin from her face as she held out a hand to receive the letters he held out to her. "This is a most welcome surprise. Though I am concerned about Elizabeth's marriage. Does my father mean to choose Francis over Charles?"

Wyatt sighed. "I think, Your Highness, that your father means to play one against the other. It has not been finalized yet, but there is very serious talk of your brother Edmund marrying the young Queen of Scotland, Mary Stewart."

"And so their child would inherit a united Britain, as is my father's not-so-secret dream," Cecily said with a wry smile. "I'm not surprised."

"No, I don't think anyone is," Wyatt admitted. She was, he reflected, entirely too easy to talk to, just like her mother. He told her the rest of the news from England before excusing himself.

Cecily heard her ladies return as the ambassador left, but she wasn't paying them any mind as she cracked open the seal on the first letter. She hadn't really looked at it first, but the entwined rose and ivy vines told her who it was immediately. Cecily didn't know why Mary had chosen that as her new sigil after her marriage to Philip of Bavaria, but Mary had written that there was sentimental meaning to it.

_Cecily,_

_ So, I'm told that your marriage to my cousin has finally gone through. Congratulations, though if you're still as displeased with the match as you were before, that might seem inappropriate. But I mean it. I want you to be happy._

_ I write to you as I write to my mother, so that the two of you are the first to know – excepting Philip, of course. I am with child, and expect the baby to come before the year is out. It's a great joy to us, especially as I have had trouble before. You know about my miscarriages, and I beg for you to pray for me, that all may be well this time._

_ Write to me, and tell me all about your new life in Spain. I hope that things are better than you feared, and even if they are not now... You should give your husband a chance, you know. If both of you try, surely it can work out for you._

_**Mary**_

Cecily smiled, lightly trailing her fingertips over the familiar handwriting. Even after years, she still missed her sister so much it hurt, and every letter was like getting a warm embrace from the older girl she had all but idolized as a child. And the news in it... Mary was pregnant again! Cecily just hoped all would go well for Mary this time; her sister deserved it.

Setting Mary's letter aside, she picked up the next one – Katherine's, from the pomegranate seal – but didn't have a chance to open it before her husband was announced and he strode in. Her ladies quickly rose from their seats and curtsied deeply. Cecily rose and made a slight curtsey, as shallow as she could get away with. It was petty, but gave her some small satisfaction. And, now, some guilt as she thought of Mary exhorting her to try harder with Philip, but she pushed that away. Mary had married for love _and_ policy both; she could not truly understand.

Philip said nothing, even though his eyes narrowed. This was how they dealt with each other, both ignoring the petty little offenses the other indulged in when given the chance. In this way, they got to emphasize their continued dislike without causing any sort of uproar unsuited to their rank. Instead he came right to the point. "I wished to inform you, in person, that we will be leaving on progress soon, to tour the Hapsburg lands and meet with my father the Emperor in the Low Countries," he told his wife coolly. "He will wish to see that we are getting on."

Cecily nodded politely. "I see. Well, then we must not disappoint him by appearing to be anything less than pleased with our fate."

"No, we cannot, madam."

* * *

"God, she is so infuriating! I would rather that she flare up at me, perhaps then we could have this out and be done with it! I am sick of us both upholding this false politeness, it makes me ill!" Philip fumed, pacing his study.

Luis frowned, not sure why it bothered Philip so much. "Why would you want a scene?" he asked reasonably. "I can't see how that would be preferable – wasn't your grandfather Philip the Fair tormented by your grandmother Juana's passionate scenes?"

"That was different," Philip said briskly. "Grandmother Juana is mad, of course such incidents were horrible." He almost choked on what he was saying, since he knew it to be a lie, but Luis did not know, and never could. "And I don't mean that I want the confrontation to happen in public, merely that I wish it to happen. This forced truce galls me and I would like nothing more than to take her to task for her stubborn disrespect, but she always stops just short of giving me a reason to do so."

The young prince shook his head, turning away from his friend. Luis could not understand, he thought irritably. Of course the older boy could not comprehend what it was like to bed a wife who was as much enemy as anything, to wonder whether her dislike would suddenly explode into a public disaster. He wanted to have it out with her once and for all, to make sure she knew her place and to never defy him again, even in her subtle ways.

He didn't know what it was. But there was something about the distance in those pale eyes, the cold prettiness of his wife, that drove him half-mad. He hated her, but he had also found in himself a deep desire for her, to want to have her be completely his. But she wasn't. He possessed her, had claimed her virginity and her body for the rest of their lives, but she was not his. She slipped through his fingers constantly, as though it were her greatest joy to do so. And perhaps it was.

"She is my wife, but she is not mine," he said finally. "It is not how things should be." His voice was quiet but the intensity of his tone showed just how deeply he felt the frustration of this, and he was so caught in his brooding that he did not see Luis' eyes narrow thoughtfully. He was too lost in contemplating his situation, unable to find a solution for it.

"My father will be meeting us while we are on progress, and he is going to want to see that we are getting on," he said grimly. "And he is an excellent reader of people; he will know that we are not, and he will disapprove." And so two wishes were driving him mad together; the need to please his father, and the desire to fully possess his ice princess of a wife. Neither seemed to be within his grasp.

And there was something else. A promise he had made, long ago, to a woman for whom he could do nothing except keep to his word.

* * *

It was surely nearing daybreak now, a sleepless Philip thought. He sat in the window seat of his wife's bedchamber, looking out at his slumbering city. He loved Spain, loved it in a way his father, a Hapsburg to the life, never could. And that love had come to him honestly.

_She_ would never understand that, Philip told himself, glancing at his sleeping wife. Like that, he could see why the young men of the court admired her, and were already beginning to make her the target of the loveplay that most royal courts engaged in. When she was awake, even when he was bedding her, the ice in her eyes was too strong for him to think her beautiful. But whatever he thought of her looks, he was sure she could not understand the love of a ruler for his country.

Looking out the window again, he berated himself for brooding. It wasn't like him, but he'd been doing more and more of it lately. He couldn't even blame it on Cecily; this trait was starting before she came. Unfortunately.

He didn't even notice when Cecily stirred. "Is something wrong?" she asked, frowning at his silhouette.

He turned to look at her, seeing the light of the one candle he'd lit flickering in her eyes. "I am simply thinking about a trip we must take before leaving on progress," he said stiffly.

Cecily tilted her head and raised an eyebrow, though she knew the light was too dim for him to see the gesture. "Where will we be going?"

"Tordesillas," he told her, voice clipped.

Cecily sat bolt upright. She knew that name. Katherine had told her about that place once, and the woman who lived there, closeted away from the world. "Your grandmother lives there," she said. It wasn't a question. "But she..." Katherine had always denied it, blamed her brother-in-law for spreading those lies and convincing the world of them, but how could the story have been so convincing if Juana of Castile was sane after all?

"Is mad?" Philip snapped. "Is that what you are thinking?"

"It's what everyone says," Cecily replied slowly, wondering just what she was getting into with this conversation.

"It's a lie," Philip snarled, and then he seemed to remember himself. He looked away from her again, staring out as the sun began to rise. "It was a lie, begun by my grandfather and continued by my great-grandfather, to take my grandmother's crown from her. My father, well... He chooses to continue it, because it causes less scandal this way than the other. He's not enough his mother's son, not Spanish enough to care anyway."

Cecily couldn't imagine a family like that, not when she'd grown up in the middle of a royal family that, while unusual, had never lacked for love. She also couldn't imagine why Philip would be telling her this. They hated each other, so... "Then why are you telling me?"

Philip smiled bitterly. "Because you can't tell anyone, it would be a risk for you now that you're my wife. And in any case, I promised her years ago she could meet my wife, the woman who would eventually be Queen of Spain instead of her, so you need to know." His eyes flickered, and then he added, "And you're close to her sister, Katherine. I hear she never believed her sister was mad, only in pain. I thought you might want to know your beloved stepmother was right."

Cecily just stared at him. What on earth was she supposed to say to that?

* * *

Tordesillas was... forbidding. That was the only word Cecily could think of to describe it. Perhaps it was because she knew that the place was a prison, but it gave her the same chill that the sight of the Tower always did. She couldn't imagine being forced to spend all her days here, as Philip's grandmother did.

And speaking of her husband... There was a grim anger in his face as he rode beside her looking up at the approaching castle, and it was an expression she'd never seen from him before. It told her how serious this was, and how much it mattered to him. Cecily didn't know how she felt about that. It had been comforting to think of Philip as a spoiled prince who didn't really care about anyone but himself, but here she was, faced with proof that he was not.

Someone reined in their horse by her other side, and Cecily turned to meet the eyes of her sister-in-law, Juana. Cecily liked Juana; she was much easier to get along with than her brother, with a sense of mischief that made Cecily wonder what would happen if Juana and Elizabeth ever met. But at the moment there was no tricksy gleam in Juana's dark eyes; just a quiet sadness.

"I was named for her, you know," she said quietly. "Philip took it worse than I did, when we met her and realized that she wasn't... He feels he has his crown by thievery, and it bothers him. Even though our grandmother has given him her blessing – more than she ever gave to Father, I suspect – he feels like it should be her running Spain, not him."

Cecily bit her lip. She didn't want to sympathize with Philip, but... That was terrible, and for a moment she had an urge to tell him that he was foolish, and he was a good Regent – she didn't like her husband but a blind man could see how seriously he took his duty to his country. She would acknowledge that one good trait in him. And she would even admit that he didn't deserve the guilt that he was carrying over this. His father did it, not him.

She just didn't want to have to tell Philip that. It wasn't her place to do it.

They reached the castle and timid servants led their horses away and trailed them as they went inside. Philip waved everyone, even Juana, away and beckoned to Cecily. For once she went without any irritation. She was too nervous for that.

He led her up a long flight of stairs, to what she thought had to be the highest floor in the entire building, until they stood before a heavy wooden door. Philip pushed it open, and Cecily held her breath, not at all sure what she would find inside.

A/N: Er, no, that's not a cliffhanger after all this time, why would you think that... The good news is, I actually have some idea of how the next chapter's supposed to go, if it helps.


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